


Attached

by rundaehyun



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, jark, markson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rundaehyun/pseuds/rundaehyun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark thought getting attached is a bad thing. Jackson thought the same. But the world is out of Jackson's control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Because two broken person would never make a happy ending._

 

The first thing that Jackson knew from Mark Tuan that he was a pill popper. He didn’t eat. Mark said every model back there in Japan were like him. Mark took the pill every once in a while, sometimes with water but that was all. Most of the time he looked just like someone who had drowned; lost and confuse. Most of the time he still felt the need of sticking his fingers down his throat to completely emptied his stomach. But Mark could take bottles of alcohol and packs of cigarettes also one full night of fucking. That was all Jackson needed from him.

 

Mark tasted like ash, his dark lips were cold and Jackson didn’t mind it. The fact was Jackson liked how Mark lazily moved his lips on his; sometimes he was too drunk to even move the other parts of his body. Mark always had a strong grip on Jackson’s thick black hair when they kissed, sometimes he panted too hard that Jackson thought he had asthma attack. Jackson liked it rough and Mark gladly took all of it. Mark usually had so little energy to keep up with the animal Jackson Wang, he didn’t even realize he had passed out many times when they fucked.

 

Jackson remembered the sound of Mark’s laughter when he’s high; it was like ringing bells—although he’s not sure whether it was just his drug-contaminated brain was playing tricks on him. People said Mark used to be beautiful, and Jackson had seen it himself. Even when he was spent, Mark was still breathtaking. Jackson liked beautiful people, even when they were tainted with unwashable stain, the beauty lingered.

 

Out of everything, Jackson liked Mark’s voice the most. Not just when he whispered ‘harder’ or ‘Jackson’ when he was breathless but also when he answered Jackson’s every questions with only a barely heard hum or only one single syllable. Even the idea of liking such a wreck was silly to Jackson; because Mark said there was nothing left in him to like. If only Jackson was sober most of the time, he would have told Mark that it was wrong. Jackson could like him with every little ounce of darkness and dirt in him, not to mention his ability to give the best head in human history. Jackson Wang might not sober all the time, but… he didn’t have to be sober in order to feel the tug on his heart every time Mark unconsciously said ‘I love you’s.

 

But it was Mark Tuan—he forgot most of the things he said when he’s drunk.

 

And Jackson didn’t mind it.

 

Mark panted so hard when Jackson covered his spent body with a thin blanket. Jackson took out a cigar and lit it until its peak turned angry red. Mark had a hard time recovering from orgasms, it took almost all of his energy and usually Jackson would let him sleep for awhile after every encounter. But this time, Mark didn’t.

 

“Jackson you broke me.” He said, more like a whisper but Jackson didn’t fail to catch it.

 

“You already are.” Jackson said, looking at the smoke he exhaled to the air.

 

Jackson heard a soft giggle, it sounded almost creepy but sad at the same time. “Ah, you are right.” He said, closing his eyes. “I am so hungry. Crazy that the pills don’t work on me anymore. What should I do then?”

 

Jackson looked at him, almost pitied the younger boy but he put that thought aside.

 

“Then eat,” he said, flicking his cigarette to let the ashes fall, “you look dying.”

 

Mark sighed. Maybe dying was not a bad idea afterall. His idea of dying was darkness; black and dangerous. It must be lonely because no sounds would be heard as well. It sounds like Mark’s life itself, but there were no times to get high and see colors anymore. Sometimes, Mark liked colors. People said rainbow has many colors, but strange that Mark didn’t remember to ever saw any of them. Were rainbows not supposed to be seen by people like him? He wasn’t sure. But one of his friend back then in Japan said, the rainbow looked just like what he saw when he was high; full of blurred lights that spreaded into many shades of colors. It looked nice, but someday Mark still wanted to see the real one.

 

“Jackson,” Mark called, Jackson was silent but he listened, “go order pizza and let’s fuck some more.”

 

“I’ll order pizza but you need rest.” Jackson grabbed his phone and dialed the delivery number. Mark was all about getting high and sex. But Jackson was somehow glad that at least he decided to initiate ordering pizza.

 

“Are you concerning about me right now?” Mark rose up to sit on the messy bed, “I need to be fucked.”

 

“Believe me I don’t enjoy fucking a lifeless body. You passed out too often, it’s turning me off.”

 

Mark smiled slyly and then he threw himself to Jackson. The bigger boy catch him before he fell from the bed and he immediately landed open mouth kisses on Jackson’s neck that had been painted with hickeys from the night before. Jackson was still holding his phone to order pizza, and just when he was about to end the call, it was answered.

 

“H-hello,” Jackson hissed when Mark shamelessly grabbed his bare cock, he mouthed curse words when Mark lowered himself and without warning engulfing his manhood until it gets harder by the second. Jackson ordered anyway, but he didn’t even sure he said the right address. He threw his phone away and fisted Mark’s hair, roughly pulling it up but pushing it down again with force. Jackson could hear Mark giggling when he felt his wanted response, and enjoy the rest of what he’d started.

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Mark noticed how Jackson looked at him when he took his first bite. He chewed slowly, trying to taste the food with his numb tongue. Jackson also took one bite, laughing slightly when he saw Mark crinkling his face in discomfort.

 

“Tastes like a sin.” Mark said, but he continued chewing anyway. He had to take a big gulp of coke to help him swallow the pizza in his mouth.

 

“Funny that you swallow drugs and alcohol like they were fruits from heaven,” Jackson took one of his book on his the bedside table, although his apartment is one hell of a big mess, he always kept the book near him. He opened a certain page and took a pen, ready to write again.

 

The first time Mark saw Jackson, was when he sat by the large glass window of a coffeeshop Mark used to visit, writing something and once awhile his mouth moved to read what he wrote. Jackson looked very serious, but at the same time very attractive. Mark didn’t know him back then, he never seen Jackson before. Few days later he figured that Jackson was a friend of Henry, a Chinese boy who came from Canada that he met at one wild party. Mark found out later from Henry that Jackson was coming to Korea with an athletic scholarship—he came to pursue his career in fencing, as he was already a champion of Asia Pacific Junior league. Mark adored him, he was impressed by how much honor had Jackson received even when he was a kid. Mark thought Jackson must be happy—with every talents, every honors, and every achievements he had gotten at such a young age.

 

Turns out Jackson wasn’t any of what Mark guessed.

 

Mark heard Jackson was the son of a famous legendary fencer from Hongkong, with two older siblings following his path as medal-winning athletes who are rspected in Hongkong. But Jackson was a stressful kid, who had a full pressure of being perfect just like the rest of his family. Mark heard that fencing was not what Jackson wanna do for the rest of his life. That boy, he liked music. He loved to dance, he composed songs and raps even since he was a kid—but having a strict and demanding father, he couldn’t do anything. One day he got the athletic scholarship in Korea, but appearantly he only went to college for less than three months, and then he quit.

 

Jackson had endured wrath of his big family—Mark heard he had cut strings to them eventhough occasionally he would still call his mother. Jackson wanted to be free, and Seoul was the right answer for him at that time. He had struggled living alone with nobody to support him financially, but after all these years, he survived and now he is free.

 

Mark found it funny that both he and Jackson found answer in Seoul.

 

Funny that both he and Jackson cut ties with their family because they wanted to be free.

 

But Jackson was a strong boy, something Mark desperately wanted to be.

 

Because Mark was a coward, he couldn’t handle pain and he was afraid of being alone. He moved to Seoul to from Los Angeles just to be free, without ever thinking about how hard it would be being in a foreign country alone without understanding any bit of the language. He didn’t even have anyone to ask for help. Lucky that he was attractive, he made his way to be a model back then—a slightly famous one, too. He had received a well popularity in Seoul for awhile, until he discovered that’s what it’s like to be free. But Mark were thrown into a wild world, a dangerous society where they exchange drugs with body and body with money. That was also when he started to eat less and less to keep existing in the strict hierarchy of Seoul’s modelling world. At first it was tough, he became weak until got hospitalized. Then one of his friends introduced him to this one pill that kept him full until he didn’t have to eat anything. Eventually his addiction became stronger. Mark’s life was a wreck, until one day he nearly overdosed.

 

Mark always felt trapped, his life and mind was a big mess. His parents disowned him a long time ago and he failed to care. When his life was near the end, he met Jackson. Jackson was rapping in a night club with some of his friends, bad words and curses came out his mouth like a waterfall. The Jackson Wang he saw that night had wings—he looked strong and free. That sight strangely made Mark smiled. Jackson was full of life, although they were almost as dark, but Jackson had hope. Mark didn’t.

 

Mark ran to the toilet, hugging the toilet bowl close to his body when he puked his guts out. His body trembled, his throat burned. He desperately wanted to keep the food down his stomach but that time it voluntarily came out. His stomach had refused the foods. Even when he wanted to get better, his body didn’t allow him.

 

“Don’t forget to breath,” he heard Jackson said from afar. He flushed the toilet, sitting there to calm his stomach down. Mark felt the cold sweat covering his body, he was shivering. He had never been so hungry in his life—stopping the pills made him sick, he was never brave before, but at that moment he was with Jackson. He felt encouraged although Jackson didn’t do anything at all.

 

When Mark opened his eyes, he saw Jackson holding another slice of pizza and a bottle of mineral water in front of him. Mark stared at him like he was a crazy idiot, but Jackson didn’t go back.

 

“Good start. Now try again.” He said, trying to feed him the pizza. Mark mentally cursed him, but he opened his mouth anyway.

 

“What kind of friend are you, trying to make me puke again.” Mark said when he was chewing slowly. Jackson chuckled. Mark drew a thin smile, fully aware that they were still in the bathroom and also because he just called Jackson a ‘friend’.

 

“What kind of human are you, cannot do the very basic thing for living.” Mark mouthed ‘fuck you’ to Jackson, but the older boy only feed him some more.

 

Just a few minutes after Mark swallowed, he crouched down to puke again. He tried again but puked again. That was when a frustrated cry slipped out his mouth. He trembled so hard that Jackson had to hold him in order to keep him from falling.

 

“I wanted to die so bad but I don’t know why I keep on trying to live.” Mark mumbled weakly to Jackson’s neck. Jackson hugged him and Mark was glad to be able to feel the warmness creeped onto his tattered body.

 

Jackson said nothing. Mark didn’t want to hear anything, though, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a long time. Jackson wasn’t designed to say sweet words, it wasn’t like he was obliged to say comforting things to Mark too. They were fuck buddies. They had fun. Sometimes they drunk, and sometimes they get high—although Jackson was always the one who was sober enough to walk home from the club.

 

Fuck buddies don’t get attached. Mark and Jackson had drawn that line since the first time they met, and they both knew that.

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Jackson knocked Mark’s apartment’s door few times, but there were no answer. Jackson always felt the obligation to make sure that the slightly older boy hadn’t kill himself yet, that’s why unopened doors and unanswered calls sent worry to his system. It had been five days Mark hadn’t come to his apartment and he never stay away from Jackson for that long.

 

Jackson knocked harder and thankfully minutes after that, Mark stood in front of the door, opening it so little as the sign for Jackson not to come in. Jackson raised his left eyebrow, questioning the messy boy in front of him. Mark looked at him with lidded eyes, he looked tired but somehow his face flushed red and Jackson immediately knew it only means one thing.

 

“I’ve got company.” Mark said. Jackson clicked his tongue, feeling annoyed.

 

“I thought you stop whoring around.” Jackson said in the mixture of anger and disappointment. Mark just stood there looking at him, noticing his clenched jaw and darkened voice. Mark smirked, but Jackson still looked at him like an eagle watching for its prey.

 

“I needed this.” Mark said, mirroring Jackson’s stare like he wasn’t afraid at all.

 

“I thought you had gotten better.” Jackson unconsciously clenched his fists, he was trying to breath calmly in order to stop him from grabbing Mark neck right at that moment.

 

“I did,” Mark was still calm, and Jackson hated that. “I was just—“

 

“You fucking cut yourself?!” Jackson grabbed Mark’s right hand that he lifted to finger-combed his hair. Jackson pulled it towards him, mentally counting the red marks that looked it had been there for days.

 

Mark pulled his hand quickly, Jackson could hear a hiss coming from Mark’s lips after his rough hand made contact with Mark’s wounded skin.

 

“It’s not your problem.” Mark was about to close the door when Jackson barged in forcefully, sending Mark hardly to the floor. Jackson got on his knees, looking at the younger boy with eyes full of concern. Mark were crying, his eyes are screaming that he needed help but desperately he denied it.

 

Jackson cupped Mark’s cheeks, trying to get the slightly older boy’s full attention. He stares at those lost eyes, he wanted so badly to kiss those heavy lids but he was paralyzed. Mark’s agony tugged him so hard on the heart—Jackson never felt those kind of pain before. He wanted to take it away; he needed to.

 

“It’s too late to run away from me now.” Jackson half growled.

 

“Jackson,” Jackson could feel the nails Mark dug onto his lower arm, he knew maybe Mark also felt the need to hurt him phisically, only to nonverbally tell how much actually he had been hurting. Jackson thought he knew, but, “I already have a lot of pain in my system,” Mark’s tears fell to Jackson’s fingers, “you are adding my pain, Jackson…”

 

Jackson needed seconds to digest what Mark wanted him to know. At first he didn’t want to give any fuck but then he saw that flash of desperate anger in Mark’s scared eyes. Jackson released Mark’s face from his palms, the fact that it came from Mark’s mouth struck him like a lightening. Mark was a wreck and Jackson was no different—they both knew it. Jackson thought they helped each other to forget their pain for awhile—like drugs. They got high with each other, they fucked and forgot their pain. When they came down, they face the worst part together. When the pain came back, they got high again and fucked some more.

 

Jackson thought it could lessen Mark’s pain. But he was wrong.

 

“You suck at lying,” Jackson roughly wiped Mark’s tears with his plam, too rough that he’s sure that Mark would felt the burning on his left cheek. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”

 

Jackson noticed how Mark shivered while staring at him like a scared cat. Mark wiped his cheeks again, but those forced smile on his face irritated Jackson to the pit of his stomach.

 

“I knew it...,” Mark smiled bitterly, “You are getting attached to me, Jackson.”

 

“What a fucking nonsen—“

 

“Once anyone get attached, everything ends.” Mark replayed the promise they made at the first time they start the ambiguous relationship. Jackson still clearly remember they said it together but back then Jackson had no idea how much the broken boy would affect his messed up life.

 

“This is your end, Jackson. I don’t want anyone get attached with me—fuck it, my whole life is a full wreckage. I told you you shouldn’t involve with someone like me—“

 

Jackson pressed his lips hard on Mark’s. He bite, sucked, pressed it so hard that his own lips are bleeding. He wanted to hurt Mark physically, to ruin him as much as he thought his heart was—damn, Jackson wanted to tear Mark apart. He grabbed the back of Mark’s neck and pressed their head harder; he wanted the boy to cry out in pain. But before his demon completely take over his sane thought; Jackson pushed Mark to the wall.

 

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

 

And so, Jackson walked out of Mark’s apartment after kicking the door with full strength. Just when he thought Mark was getting better, just when he thought that slowly he could try to be clean and drag Mark together. He was wrong—fuck, Jackson was always wrong. He hated the fact that the world always ran crazily out of his control.

 

He wanted to save Mark—and maybe himself too. He felt enough of those angry yet desperate tears choke Mark in his sleep. He wanted to end the depression that ate Mark from the inside until the younger boy felt the need to hurt himself just to feel human.

 

But who was he kidding? If Mark Tuan was a wreck, Jackson Wang was no different. They were nothing but two person who get wasted together and then fuck until the world came crumbling down to their feet.

 

Because two broken person would never make a happy ending.

 

Jackson hated that he was always wrong. He thought he would never be attached to such a broken person like Mark Tuan, but the universe always spin against his will.

 

Jackson wished getting attached could mean something good, but all it brought was pain and depression.

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Mark wished he could bear pain without any help of his little ‘friend’. Damn—he wished that he never had any pain to kill. But he did. He had a lot of it. And by killing it, means to numb it for a little while and then it would came crashing down to him like a tornado. It usually felt ten times worse combined with the hungover and excessive need for someone to break him from the inside.

 

Mark liked to think that exchanging his body with drugs and painkillers was his job. It was an unstable job—clearly, but when he picked the right person he could get so much more than what he needed.

 

His clients were always curious about what happened to his wounded wrists—that sometime they found still bleeding. Mark didn’t like to say out loud that he was cutting himself, but he liked that his clients only responded with a single ‘oh’ without any further questions.

 

The only one who asked further questions usually was Jackson. Why did Mark do that, what if Mark died, where else did Mark cut. Jackson sometimes was full of questions, but he could be very quiet too. When Mark smoked weed and get wasted but Jackson was in no mood to do the same, Jackson would just be quiet. When Mark cried to his sleep, Jackson would also be quiet.

 

Jackson Wang was an asshole, people said. Mark laughed when he thought about the real Jackson he knew. Sure thing, Jackson is the type who flirts around and fucks just anyone, but Jackson, there was something different about him. Mark once looked at his notebook—the one that filled with raps that he once thought were poems—and from there Mark could see that Jackson was only a kid who stray too far from home.

 

At one certain page of Jackson’s book, Mark once read a rap about an angel. The angel was beautiful, he wrote, but it has no wings. The angel’s back was bleeding because its wings had been ripped apart—roughly, painfully. The angel couldn’t go back to where it belong. Then, the angel tried to live like a human but of course human life was tough and hard. The angel tried and tried, but all it get was pain and wounds. Jackson wrote that he wanted to help the angel, that he wanted to paint a pair of beautiful wings on its back and pray to any God that ever existed to make the wings came true. But turns out that he was a human, and God didn’t work that way. The End.

 

Mark guessed the rap had not reach its end yet. He hoped the rap didn’t end that way.

 

Mark smiled as he sipped his black coffee at the coffee shop where he first saw Jackson. The weather was cold, it was raining outside. He thought about Jackson’s angel, and shamelessly imagined that the angel was him. He was broken just like the angel, bruised and scarred. But wouldn’t it be too wrong to refer himself as an angel?

 

A tap on his shoulder woke Mark from his daydream. He took a look at someone who was standing before him, handsome and looked rich. Jaebum was the one Mark ran to when he was short of money but he needed to numb his pain. Jaebum always had those little things he need with the exchange of his body for one night. What’s not to like about being fucked to oblivion by a drop dead gorgeous man and also getting something in return. Mark used to it, and he’s not planning to stop doing it either.

 

“You bring me what I need, right?” Mark asked. The man who already took a seat across him nodded, looked all excited that he’s got to spent one full night with his favorite bitch.

 

“I will also reward you when you do me good.” Jaebum said, but Mark only smirked in return.

 

“Have I ever disappoint you?” he sipped his coffee again, “that’s what made you jumped to me bringing all the stuffs you got only with a single short message.”

 

Jaebum laughed, and Mark hated it.

 

“I heard you hang out often with some kid,” Jaebum crossed his right leg, sitting there elegantly, “did he gave you more money or did he fuck you harder than I do?”

 

Mark looked at Jaebum’s eyes, feeling annoyed. Jaebum was always too nosy about his life but he couldn’t tell the man to just fuck off. Im Jaebum was his only source of money and stuffs at the moment, and as long as Jaebum still liked his body, might as well took as much advantages as he could.

 

“He’s no one.” Mark answered, making Jaebum smiled in satisfaction.

 

Mark always tried to empty his mind when he was brought to some hotel by some guys, he didn’t like to think about how painful it was for his body and soul. The same goes when Jaebum took him. He had enough pain in his system and sometimes he just wanted to cry over it and die. But unfortunately, death didn’t work that way.

 

Often when Jaebum rammed hard into him, he would cry out loud—not because of the pain on his lower back, but the one that buried deep inside of him. At the time like that, he was crying both outside and inside, and that was when he felt like giving up so much. The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see—the wailing or the hiccups. It happened when the soul wept and no matter what he did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on a part of Mark’s soul that survived.

 

For people like Mark Tuan, the soul contains more scar tissue than life.

 

The damage was permanent, and even though the angriest scars faded through time, his life always found new ways to dig a deeper wound than before.

 

That night, Mark Tuan took more pills than usual to numb a greater pain than what he always felt. Jaebum’s face was blurry, even lights looked only like shades. He succeed to numb his pain, he succeed to empty his mind.

 

But somewhere between the real world and his unconsciousness, Mark saw Jackson’s face looking at him with concern. The Jackson in his dream was offering a hand for him to grab, but when he was about to reach it, all images faded to black.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson would never knew how to stop pains, but he could learn how to treat wounds.

 

“Jackson.”

 

Major part of Jackson’s brain told him to just close the door and let Mark tastes his own poison by abandoning him without any words, but no matter how dominant that part was, the one that won against Jackson’s body was still the part that wanted even a very little piece of the human wreckage Mark Tuan. He held the door open, looking at the boy who had been missing as though he had been swallowed whole to the center of the earth for more than two weeks. But at that moment, there he was. Standing casually in front of the door without awkwardness, bringing one plastic bag of what Jackson could see as snacks and ramens.

 

What made Jackson hold the door open was not the fact that Mark actually brought food—at least it means he wanted to eat something, and Jackson liked it when Mark did—but the fact that he looked all sober. Those jet black hair was still messy but looked fluffy and nice. He wore broken white sweater that has no faint red marks of blood on its sleeves, with skinny jeans and clean converse. Mark looked like human—the real definition. The bags of his eyes were still visible and his skin was still pale, but he didn’t look like zombie just like what Jackson always seen him.

 

“I want to eat. Please cook ramen for me?”

 

Jackson still didn’t smile, didn’t show anything to encourage or discourage Mark’s acts. He was just standing there, looking at Mark who acted like their relationship was in the very best situation—looked like he didn’t even remember saying anything about they should never meet again; that everything has ended or Jackson got fucking attached. God, Jackson wished he could grab Mark’s skinny neck right at that second because, damn, those words hurted Jackson’s pride and he hated it. Yet, there he was. Actually opening the door signaling the younger boy to come inside as if nothing happened.

 

Jackson took the ramen packs on the table—where Mark left it to sit on his messy bed. The apartment was small enough for Jackson to looked clearly at Mark’s expression, even from the kitchen. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, looking particularly at nothing. Those eyes were vacant—empty. Those black orbs didn’t even move, heck, he didn’t even blink and it only made Jackson even more confuse.

 

The fact that Mark looked sober and healthier was suppose to be a very good development, but those vacant eyes scared Jackson even more than when Mark’s pupil all dilated from drugs and alcohol. Mark sat there, unmoving, even those eyes might be unseeing. Until Jackson finished cooking, Mark still hasn’t move even an inch, Jackson could sense something wrong but he couldn’t grasp what it was.

 

Jackson put the a bowl of instant ramen in front of Mark who immediately flash a smile. He didn’t look like Mark at all—he wasn’t smiling like that, Mark’s smile always made his two eyes formed crescents, no matter what his condition were—sober or not, but Jackson didn’t like this smile.

 

Mark took the chopsticks and dug his bowl, eating the ramen without saying anything. He didn’t look at Jackson who was leaning on the wall just approximately one meter in front him. A part of Jackson was happy by looking at the one who barely take any bite of pizza  now eating without even gagging. But the other part of him told Jackson that it wasn’t right. Mark didn’t even looked like he was eating for himself—not to satisfy any hunger but just something he did out of his conscious mind. He looked like robot who was controlled, and Jackson wanted to just stop him right there, but he didn’t.

 

Mark ate ridiculously fast, then he put his bowl on the floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Jackson watched carefully every inch of his movements, trying so hard to figure out what was wrong with the lightly older boy. Mark looked around, might be surprised because the apartment wasn’t as messy as what he remembered. It didn’t smell like smoke and cheap beers anymore, there were also no bottles or plastics contained pills or powders that they always used to get high. Jackson’s apartment looked like a normal apartment now, he threw every junk away after Mark told him to disappear. He was so angry at Mark that he didn’t want him to recognize the apartment if someday he came back. Jackson desperately wanted to erase every trail of Mark; his smell, his images, damn, Jackson even  wanted to erase him away from his memory.

 

“I am so tired,” Mark said, finally breaking the silence. Without waiting for any approval, he climbed on to Jackson’s bed and snuggled himself under the cover, closing his eyes immediately. Jackson could hear Mark’s heavy breath, hating the fact that his brain clearly remembered how warm that breath was against his neck.

 

“You have to go after you wake up.” Jackson said coldly, grabbing the notebook on the bedside table and went to the supposed to be living room part of his apartment, then start writing again.

 

Jackson couldn’t concentrate at what he’s been writing. Usually, Mark presence could make him thinks about so many things, so many inspirations. Only by hearing Mark’s gibberish words in his sleep or heavy breathes when he came down from his high could inspire Jackson verses and verses of words, but this time, nothing.

 

All Jackson wanted to do was come to Mark and caress that pale face, yell every profanity to his face and call him with every bad words existed on earth. It wasn’t hatred, it was disappointment, sadness, hopelessness, and longing that makes Jackson wanted to just pull Mark and crush his bones in a tight hug. Jackson wanted Mark to just go if he want to go but the younger came back so casually that it drove Jackson crazy. He came back with much better condition but Jackson could sense every single thing was wrong on that little head of the pretty boy.

 

Jackson hated it when he was overthinking about Mark—damn, the boy himself didn’t even think about anything. He was so busy about his own pain that Jackson couldn’t begin to describe, Mark was busy pitying himself that he couldn’t keep track of what was happening around him. Mark was clueless, but his brain was doctrined that he was a burden and he had to hurt in order to feel something.

 

“The angel...,” Jackson stopped swaying the black pen on his right hand because Mark’s voice sounds so distant and sad, “did it get its wings back?”

 

Jackson’s breath stopped for a moment. So Mark read the absurd story Jackson wrote about an angel who lost his wings. It was his most favorite but at the same time the words he hated so much.

 

“I don’t know.” Jackson said coldly. Jackson could see from the corner of his eyes that Mark was looking at him with his usual curious eyes—it gets bigger and there were faint sparks on it.

 

“Why don’t you know? You created it.”

 

“I abandoned him.”

 

“It was a ‘he’?”

 

Jackson didn’t answer.

 

Jackson leaned his back on the single couch he was sitting on. He closed the notebook on his lap and closed his eyes too. He had been thinking about going back to his parents, to kiss his father’s two feet to beg for forgiveness if he needed to. To assure his mother that he wasn’t going to go anywhere but college, that he wouldn’t do anything but study, that he would make his father proud, he would go back to fencing and win every medal there are to win. It wouldn’t be so hard to quit smoking, it’s even easier than to stop taking drugs. He wasn’t that addicted to those two poisons, anyway.

 

Two weeks since Jackson stopped seeing Mark, two weeks Jackson never had the need to get high. He still smoked, he got drunk, but he spent more hours in one day being sober. He wrote lyrics, he went rapping, he even made money. He didn’t even get tough time quitting drugs because he wasn’t addicted to it at the first place.

 

Mark was the one who addicted to drugs. And Jackson was addicted to him.

 

Jackson nearly jumped in surprise when he felt a hand traveled down his chest and a soft but cold body hugged him from behind. Jackson knew Mark had buried his face to Jackson’s jet black hair, sniffing his scent like Mark always did when he came down from his orgasm. Jackson wanted to yank his body out of Mark’s hug but instead, he relaxed, leaning down onto the faint warmth as much as he could receive.

 

“Jackson,”

 

Jackson stayed still, he closed his eyes but he didn’t answer. Mark wrapped his hands loosely around Jackson’s neck, they are so close that Jackson could feel Mark’s heartbeat against his back. Chill ran down his spine when Mark buried his face to the crook of his neck, kissing it without any sounds. Jackson wanted to just escape from that captivating warmth but his body acted against his will—it scared him. It scared him how much his body wanted Mark’s presence, his brain had lose control over his physical features, and he was sure his self restrain was wearing thin.

 

Jackson could feel his neck was wet from what he assumed as Mark’s tears—the boy sobs only to prove him right. Jackson could hear his own heart broke with every sobs that escape from Mark’s lips, he wanted to just kiss those eyelids tenderly until he forgot the reason of his tears. When his heart took over his every acts, Jackson lifted his right hand to reach Mark’s head, running his fingers through those soft locks tenderly.

 

It felt so right, so right that Jackson felt like losing himself. He leaned his head to Mark’s, signaling that he received all the touch that Mark gave to wake his cold soul up. Mark lifted his head and Jackson looked back at him, his eyes told Jackson that he was afraid and Jackson got the message. Jackson immediately kissed back when he felt Mark’s chapped lips reached to his, hoping that the slow kiss could help to mend at least a little bit of Mark’s invisible wounds.

 

Jackson let his instinct took over, kissing Mark like it was the most natural thing to do on earth. He pulled Mark closer, without breaking the kiss he managed to lead Mark to gracefully climb on to his lap with his two legs on the side of Jackson’s hips. The kiss turned wilder when they faced each other, when Jackson put both of his palms to cup Mark’s cheeks and Mark wrapped his two hands around Jackson’s neck.

 

Jackson wanted to savour every little ounce of Mark’s sweetness, to feel Mark’s every breath on his skin, and to be reminded that this was his addiction. He wasn’t addicted to drugs, he wasn’t addicted to smoke nor alcohol. It was Mark. It was always Mark. If he had to get high in order to wrap Mark in his embrace, he did. If he had to be very drunk in order to hear a faint ‘I love you’s from Mark’s lips then he did. Mark was the drug he would never be free from. Mark’s effect was stronger to him compared to shots and shots of illegal drugs. Mark drove him insane—Mark made him bad. Lost. But he didn’t want to be right.

 

They were busy eating each other’s face but Jackson snapped into reality when he realized that Mark had cried in their kiss. Jackson pulled out from the kiss, giving a little space between their face so he could see Mark’s red eyes. Mark placed his hands on Jackson’s chest, gaining his courage to look at the older boy’s coal black orbs.

 

“I’m attached, Jackson... I cannot help myself, I am so sorry...”

 

Jackson pulled Mark closer, tenderly kissing both of his eyelids to wipe his tears out. Jackson could feel Mark leaned onto his palm, he rose both of his hands and placed them on to of Jackson’s, and Jackson knew that Mark’s heart was even colder than both of his hands. Jackson knew Mark’s heart had been broken and he hide every little pieces so deep that even he himself couldn’t find them anymore.

 

“Make love to me,” it sounded too desperate that Jackson wanted Mark to just shut up and kiss him. Jackson would do just anything, anything to at least blow a cold breeze of wind against Mark’s wounds to lessen the pain, “make the pain stop, Jackson, I beg you.”

 

Jackson didn’t know how much exactly Mark was hurting, he didn’t even knew where did it hurt. The only thing he knew that Mark hurts so much therefore he needed to beg someone else to take the pain away. Jackson hated it when Mark beg—even when they had sex, Jackson didn’t want Mark to beg. Jackson wanted to give Mark the world without he needed to ask for anything.

 

He must have been crazy. He desperately in love with a human wreckage when he himself was no different.

 

Mark kissed Jackson hard, biting his lower lip down strong enough to drew blood, but Jackson let him anyway. Jackson only needed seconds to unzip Mark’s jeans and Mark even helped to get rid of it. They didn’t bother to undress, Jackson was still on his black wife beater and Mark was still in his broken white sweater—Jackson didn’t even have time to thoroughly open his sweatpants. Mark was licking the inside of Jackson’s mouth when he pushed one finger into him, but Jackson didn’t miss those red blush on Mark’s pale face. It was Jackson’s favorite and honestly he would kill to be the only one who could see how mesmerizing it was.

 

Jackson knew Mark didn’t stop crying when he aligned his manhood against Mark’s entrance. Jackson gripped Mark’s hips with his two strong hands, carefully not to hurt the fragile boy even more than he already was. He let Mark kissed him desperately and he kissed back just as hard. Mark’s breath was irregular when Jackson began to thrust and bounce his body up and down. Jackson could feel how badly Mark wanted this—his grip on Jackson’s hair was tight and firm, his kiss was passionate and strong. He breathed into Jackson’s mouth, calling his name over and over again.

 

Mark always get exhausted easily but this time he didn’t even stop. He wrapped his legs around Jackson’s hips, pushing his body up and down with all his might. Mark tilted his head back allowing Jackson to lick and suck on his neck, his hands wrapped around Jackson’s neck, gripping and clawing hard trying to be steady. Mark cried his name out repeatedly, making Jackson thrust up even faster. Mark looked down to kiss him again, but now he was too tired to bite as hard as before. Jackson knew Mark was close when his legs wrapped tighter, and seconds after, Mark’s eyes rolled back, his breath hitched, and his body slumped down just when Jackson growled into their kiss. Jackson was consumed by his own orgasm but he didn’t miss the ‘I love you’s Mark whispered repeatedly to their kisses.

 

And that moment, Jackson knew Mark Tuan wasn’t even drunk.

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Jackson woke up in the middle of the night finding Mark fast asleep beside him, naked with thin white blanket barely covered his body. Jackson didn’t even realize how it’s night already, he didn’t even knew how much sex they had, and he also didn’t know that Mark didn’t stop crying, even in his sleep.

 

_I thought everything was just a nightmare and when I woke up it will be alright. But then I realize I also woke up to a nightmare. I cannot even differ them anymore._

Jackson didn’t know Mark well. He didn’t know how many problems exactly Mark was hiding inside his pretty little head. Jackson wished he could overcome every problems that tugged so hard on Mark heart, that made the boy cried in agony even when he’s unconscious. Dream was suppose to be the place where someone like Mark could be free. He supposed to dream about sugars and rainbows, about laughter and happiness, because he would wake up into darkness and pains.

 

Jackson sighed. Mark stopped whimpering when Jackson placed his palm on Mark’s cheek and brush his stubborn thick eyebrow softly with his thumb. Mark leaned to the warmth, searching for more as he hiccuped. Jackson brush the strands of soft jet black locks with his other hand, he was curious of what did Mark see in his dream. At times when Mark asleep like that, Jackson always think about who possibly wanted to hurt such a delicate beauty. Why such a young boy had so much sorrow, why should an innocent person went through so much pain that he needed to bleed in order to feel better?

 

World is such a cruel place. That is why an angel would hurt when he tried to fit in.

 

“Mark...,”

 

“Hmm?” Still sleepy, Mark snuggled closer to Jackson’s body. He wasn’t entirely sleepy—he was trying to feel as much warmth his body could receive.

 

“I fell in love.” There’s no use to hide it anymore because Jackson knew somewhere between their kisses, somewhere between their connected body, Mark had already knew it.

 

“With me?” and Jackson only grunt as an answer.

 

Jackson catched Mark’s tiny smile, and god, it was beautiful. Jackson wondered was he always drunk whenever Mark smiled like that or Mark was the one who never smiled like that before. He would give up his world to be able to paint those smile a little wider, a little longer. Jackson would want to live with that smile forever, but forever is such a long time.

 

“Don’t.” He said, without opening his eyes. Jackson frowned, but he ran his fingers through Mark’s thick hair—damn, was it always that soft or it’s just Jackson who never sober enough to feel it?

 

“Why?”

 

Mark sighed. They were so close that Jackson could feel Mark’s breath on his neck, “because things that fell, gets broken.”

 

 Jackson didn’t answer but he didn’t stop playing with Mark’s hair—it made the latter almost purred and he eventually gets calmer. Jackson could have said that he wasn’t afraid to get broken because he already was, but he didn’t. He could have said that they both were equally broken and they could try to repair each other—but Jackson then realized that they were human. They were not machine that could be repaired when it’s broken. When human’s heart gets broken, they went beyond repair—the heart broke into million little pieces, even in their case, it’s been shattered into ashes.

 

Jackson wanted to blow some sense to Mark’s little head, to ask him to at least have some hope in order to keep living. Mark’s body was too cold against his skin that Jackson needed to wrap his hands around his fragile being. His breath was harsh against Jackson’s neck, and he began to shiver—Jackson had no idea whether from cold or another thing.

 

As Jackson hugged Mark’s body closer, he liked to think that Mark was getting better. He wanted Mark to get better and maybe they could live a less fucked up life together. Jackson would never knew how to stop pains, but he could learn how to treat wounds. 

 

Jackson was too tired when Mark trembled hard in his embrace. All he did was hugging him closer and tighter just like what he used to do when Mark came down from his high. Jackson kissed Mark’s forehead, wishing that the boy would get better through time.

 

Jackson thought Mark was getting better, but as always, the world always spins against his will.

 

When Jackson wake up, the boy in his embrace was too cold, and it took seconds for Jackson to realize that there were no wind blew against his neck. Jackson tried to shook Mark, but he didn’t make any sound.

 

Just when Jackson thought Mark was getting better, the next morning he didn’t even wake up.

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	3. Chapter 3

_I don’t know how this hopeless boy weaseled his way into my life, but I know I’m definitely not ready for him to leave._

 

 

Jackson ran his hands through Mark’s hair, he shook his body, he screamed names mixed profanities to his ears, Jackson had even slapped him across the face, but nothing. Mark Tuan was very cold and still. He wasn’t breathing and Jackson couldn’t hear his hearbeat no matter how strong he tried to pump it. Jackson blew air into Mark’s mouth, but nothing changed. Jackson’s blood went cold, his muscles froze. Fear clung on his whole being, there were whispers of cold winds reminding him about deaths, deaths everywhere.

 

There was a long silent moment when everything stayed still, the clocks stopped ticking and time slowly slipped away from both of them, there was only Jackson with tears threatened to fall from his two eyes, and Mark’s cold unmoving body that he held so close to his own just to find any bit of warmth or any beats of life in it. Jackson wanted so badly to rip Mark’s chest open and squeezed his heart to have it beating again, but there he was, only screaming every curse words ever existed to Mark’s ears, voice shaking of fears.

 

Jackson didn’t know how he managed to call ambulance with shaking hands, he didn’t know how long he cried against Mark’s lips—he wasn’t sure whether it was a kiss or just things he did out of his sanity to search for Mark’s response. Time stopped, every sounds muted and shadows vanished, until someone ripped Mark apart from him. Jackson had screamed at them, curse them so harshly, he even almost smashed his fist to one of the paramedic but they still took Mark away from him with so much force, wheeled him away without giving Jackson any chances to follow.  

 

Jackson gathered his strength to ran three blocks to the nearest bus stop and hopped a ride to the hospital, the cold was seeping into his cotton t-shirt. He’s a shaking mess when he wind up at Mark’s hospital door and he got one look at Mark seizing on the bed before he’s dragged away.

 

A nurse had come to him asking questions about Mark, but all he managed to recall was only his full name. Jackson didn’t know his date of birth, his blood type, his parent’s name, the only thing Jackson knew was his addiction to alcohol and drugs. She kept asking Jackson questions and he kept shaking his head.

 

Jackson knew nothing about Mark Tuan.

 

It was not long until the nurse gave up and said things about they would just search his data in their archive or something along that lines, Jackson couldn’t care less. The image of Mark being pumped, his body being shaken, things being shoved down his throat to got the drugs out of his system, it kept flashing inside of Jackson’s brain, reminding him that Mark could be gone at every second and nothing he could do to stop it.

 

Jackson couldn’t breath properly. His whole body ached, his musles were numb. The sun was rising but cold seeped through his thin black shirt and straight to his bones. He leaned his body against the white wall and let his knees buckled to drop himself to the cold floor. He tugged on his hair, he clawed his own skin and let his nail dig into his palm to draw blood. The great amount of pain had numbed him. The fear had blocked his senses, he didn’t even know what and who to pray anymore. Jackson was a wreck and he failed to notice whether it’s Mark or the world who had ruined him.

 

Jackson failed to count how long had he been sitting on the cold floor. His body felt cold, his chest was too tight for him to inhale breathes, he wanted to just rip his lungs out and tore it into pieces. It would have been less painful. There were no sign of Mark and there were no one who cared enough to tell him about what happened inside the emergency room.

 

His senses were rushing back to him when one of the nurse came, appearantly didn’t get any informations about Mark’s life and families. His brain was in so much mess that he couldn’t understand what the nurse told him, he couldn’t register the medical names and terms, but the only thing he got from the nurse’s long explanation was Mark’s condition was really bad. Mark’s overdosed on prescription medicine. They had pumped drugs from his system and resuscitated him twice in one hour.

 

He was allowed to see Mark after long hours of fighting the urge to barge in and beat every doctors into pulps. Mark was on so many machines that Jackson confused just to look at him from outside the glass wall. There was one for his breathing, one to monitor his heart, one to replenish his need for nourishment, another to flush the toxins from his blood. Jackson couldn’t help but wonder while staring at Mark’s slightly grey skin, how it all went wrong so quickly. Just one second Mark was safe in his embrace, but then the only thing he knew after that was the sirens of ambulance and Mark’s lifeless body wheeled away from him.

 

_Just when I thought things were starting to get better, everything had gone wrong again._

_._

_._

_._

Another morning came but they wouldn’t allow Jackson to come any closer to Mark. He needed sleep, they said. His condition was very bad, they said. Jackson wanted to grab his skinny hands and give it warmth if its cold. He wanted to feel Mark just to know that he was real—no one had taken him away.

 

Jackson hated how fast everything happened. He didn’t think he had enough of Mark clutched onto his back—or dug his nail onto Jackson’s skin to compensate with his pain mixed pleasure, he didn’t think he had enough seeing a little spark of bliss in Mark’s eyes when he’s high. Mark was spread out on hospital bed like a bird whose wings were ripped apart from its body, and the image scluptured into Jackson’s retinas when he blinked to make sure it’s hurting him deep enough.

 

Jackson didn’t aware of his surrounding before someone roughly pulled his left shoulder to rip him apart from the glass wall of Mark’s room. Before Jackson could register who it was, a punch landed on the bridge of his nose.

 

“Son of a bitch,” it was a man shorter and skinnier than Jackson, his doe eyes were  wet with unshed tears. He was crying, his face was red and full of hatred. Jackson couldn’t figure out who it was, but his anger and desperate cries made Jackson felt guilty as if he deserved it, “what have you done to my friend?!”

 

He walked to the glass wall, caressing it as if he was soothing the broken man inside. His fingers trembled when he slowly ran it against the cold glass, so carefully as if he was caressing the real body of the injured Mark.

 

“God he is in so much pain... what have you done to him?” the question came out barely above a whisper, the skinny man dropped his body to the floor as if his energy was leaving him fully. Jackson could only watch, still digesting what happened and who he might be, considering the painful cries and those concern in his eyes when he looked at Mark.

 

They stayed like that for God knows how long, with Jackson is still standing there having no idea of what to do and say, and the smaller man who cried his heart out to his hands on the floor.

 

Jackson knew nothing about Mark Tuan, no one did. They simply consider Mark as the fucked up ex model from LA and no one ever bother to know more. Jackson didn’t know who was the man whose shoulders shook so violently from crying in front of Mark’s room. But seeing the crying man in front of him, Jackson wanted so badly to apologize for the reason he didn’t even know. He wanted to apologize for letting Mark ruining himself, or for not trying hard enough to save him from things that might hurt him. Jackson wasn’t sure what to apologize, but even so, he also didn’t think he deserved forgiveness.

 

The loud beep from inside Mark’s room woke both of them. Panic rose up in Jackson’s whole being, sending the chills that had gone for awhile to his body. The noises of machines and the yells from doctors and nurses send Jackson a headache, not to mention the crying man in front of him had cried louder than before. Jackson could only catched a glance of the heart monitor went straight-lined, the sound of defibrilator charging and the bed cracking. He shouldn’t have heard the noises that clear since the glass door separated them, but every single scene forced its way to his brain, playing again and again as a painful sequence in slow motion.

 

When the curtains were closed, Jackson lost his cool completely. He wanted to barge in, he had kicked the door, slammed it with his two fists, screamed, claw on it, but it wouldn’t open. Instead, four big man came to grab him, they hold him still and take him away as if he’s a danger. When his two hands were being held so tightly, he kicked out his legs hitting everything within his reach.

 

“Take him away from Mark.” The shorter man said, making Jackson raise his eyebrow.

 

“Who the fuck are you?!”

 

“Such an ill manner,” the shorter man walked towards him while gritting his teeth, and with a fast motion he slapped Jackson’s left cheek, “you are not allowed to be here. Only family are.”

 

Jackson growled, he struggled in the men’s hold but the four of them were too strong compared to his worn out body. He wanted to grab the short man’s neck with a death grip and rip it out from its body.

 

“Family?” Jackson snickered, he flash a smirk to trigger the man’s anger—it sounds very ridiculous, not the idea of Mark actually have family, but how Mark had to struggle so much to continue his life meanwhile his so called ‘family’ went around with four bodyguards, “it’s ridiculous that you still have the nerve to call yourself his family.”

 

The shorter man’s doe eyes look at Jackson with so much hatred, but Jackson glared back with a mocking stare.

 

“Now that he’s dying, you come to claim him. Where the fuck were you when he’s struggling for living? Such a great family.”

 

Jackson could see the vein on the shorter man’s neck, his jaw slacked and his fists clenched.

 

“Don’t let him come any closer to Mark.” He said through gritted teeth. The four big men dragged Jackson away no matter how strong he struggled.

 

“You can’t do that, he needs me.”

 

“Oh, don’t think so highly of yourself. All he needs is treatments and his family. You will only give him bad influences, might as well disappear from his life.”

 

Jackson struggled with all his might until the hold on his hands released, in a flash he jumped on the tiny man, one hand fisted the collar of his button shirt and the other hand grab his neck, blocking the air from entering his lungs.

 

“Don’t start this on me, bastard. I can break you with my own two hands,” Jackson could feel people start coming and pry him away from the man who was now chocking under him but his grip won’t loosen. “That so called family of yours would have been dead by now, he fucking needs me. Keeping him away from me will kill him, mark my words.”

 

Jackson gave a last push to the man before he storm out of the crowds, yelling every bad words under the sun to every people who stumbled on his way. There’s no way in hell he would let people claim Mark and took him away, that broken man fucking needs him for living but people would never understand.

.

.

.

Jinyoung eyed the features of his cousin through the glass wall, tears were escaping from his eyes but he could not care less. It’s been long—too long that it feels like he was a stranger. Six years was such a long period to be spent alone without anyone to ask help for, and he had predicted how broken Mark actually was.

 

It wasn’t just the numerous scars and bruises that told the stories about what Mark had been experienced, but also the fact that he didn’t actually wanted to be alive. Jinyoung heard drugs could kill people but actually it was the depression that kill them from the inside.

 

Jinyoung remembered that Mark was just fourteen when he took drugs for the first time, he was depressed, he went out of control until one day Jinyoung found him overdosed in his own room. Paramedics managed to safe him but that’s when his parents decided to ground him, to keep him from the outside world. They shoved Mark into a facility to cure his addiction from drugs, where Jinyoung knows too well Mark was treated less than animal. They caged him, they strapped him onto a bed, they sedate him, they locked him inside a dark and small room. Six months, they picked up Mark after six months in the facility. They thought he was getting better, his body was recovering, his color had returned, his beauty was there again. But Mark fooled them all. Six months is enough to make him hate his family.

 

Jinyoung regretted everything, how they was being too hard on Mark. He was never allowed to visit Mark in the facility and as far as he knew, no one of the family ever came to at least console and support him. Not even his parents. They were too busy managing their own business. When Mark ran away from home, he created havoc, of course, but unfortunately it only lasted for a short time.

 

They gave up too easily on Mark. They stopped searching for him, as if they had also stop caring.

 

And after two years effort of searching for him again, Jinyoung finally found Mark again. Broken, into pieces.

 

Jinyoung wanted to make it right again, to fix Mark up and bring him home again. But he kept asking himself, was it too late? Mark was broken, and when a person broke, they went beyond repair.

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It’s been days no one allowed Jackson to come near Mark. The front of his ward was guided by two big men, the doctor who handled his case were the choosen ones. Sometimes when he’s lucky, Jackson could look at Mark from behind a glass wall when he’s asleep, but some other times he could only hear him screaming and yelling profanities to the paramedics.

 

Jackson didn’t know how long he observed Mark. By the end of his observation period, he thought he could accurately sketch every part of Mark’s pretty face: the shapely lips, the long eyelashes, pointy nose and thick eyebrows. In his mind, he filled in the rest of Mark’s body, adding the numerous scars he knows litter the arms beneath the white sheets. The scars were part of Mark’s body now, it was the mark of his every struggles and fights. Jackson liked to think the scars as the evidence of how hard he had struggled, how much he had beaten the devils and came back again to life.

 

Mark didn’t speak anymore. The doctors implied he’s just being difficult and there’s nothing physically wrong with his vocal chords but Jackson knew there’s more to the story. After his body had been completely flushed of drugs, Mark looked ill and must be wheeled around because his legs couldn’t support his own low weight. He never eats and he also didn’t allowed to take pills. Every nourishment he needed were forced into his bruised body through needles. His eyes were hollows and barely focus anymore.

 

When the first day of withdrawal hit him and he was wheezing against the side of his bed seizing, Jackson was forced to watch from outside the glass wall—didn’t allowed to come any closer. The doctors and nurses weren’t able to hold him still afraid that Mark might hurt them instead. Jackson was so frustrated that he banged the glass wall hoping that it would cracked open and hurt every single people who tried to hurt Mark, but it didn’t.

 

Jackson was sick of the incompetency of the nurses, he kicked the door open and come closer to hold Mark to prevent him from injuring himself. Mark’s body trembled as sweat bloomed across his forehead and he gagged into Jackson’s neck, groaning. Mark had regurgitated every ounce of food he could possibly hold in his body the only thing came out were stomach acid and saliva. Jackson held him down as doctors tried to inject medicines into his veins.

 

Mark trashed around, kicking everything under his reach when his hands were trapped in Jackson’s tight hold. He chocked on his breath when the rest of his stomach contents forced its way up. Jackson shushed him, he ran one of his hands onto the back of Mark’s head and gripped his thick and long hair to keep him still.

 

“...please..., please...”

 

Mark was begging in his choked sobs, Jackson couldn’t understand for what. Every sobs sounded too painful that it breaks Jackson’s shttered heart, but all he could do was to hold him close so he wouldn’t hurt his body anymore. When the paramedics managed to insert the needle to Mark’s vein, it acted instantly and Mark’s body relaxed completely. The nurses and doctors looked on in astonishment as Mark started to doze off, his head lolling onto Jackson’s shoulder.

 

The unconscious sobs still constantly escaped from Mark’s mouth when his body laid on the bed with Jackson holding him, his lips moved as if he’s whispering things no one could identify. His weak hands fisted Jackson’s black shirt, his eyebrows contorted in mixed confusion and pain.

 

“...please...”

 

It was the only thing Jackson could register from Mark’s mumbles, and it made him uncomfortable.

 

“Ssshhh... stop begging.” Jackson said, kissing Mark’s sweaty temple as the younger man shutted down completely. His breath still halted once in awhile but he fell to a deep sleep his body needed. After making sure Mark was deep unconscious, Jackson was dragged away again and the door was locked and guarded again. Jackson didn’t protest this time, he had made sure Mark sleep soundly—and the next day he only have to do the exact same thing again.

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.

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“Mark, you have to eat,” Jinyoung bring a spoon of porridge to Mark’s mouth but the latter didn’t react. Mark was half sitting on his bed with the upper side lifted to help him more comfortable, stared at nothing in particular. His left hand was swollen because of the IV needles, and now it’s been moved to his right hand.

 

The VIP room was spacious—luxurious, even. Jinyoung had made sure Mark got the best treatment in the hospital but he refused to cooperate. He didn’t eat, he didn’t take the medicines, he had to be strapped to the bed in order to change the IV bags. He had experienced seizures and breakdowns because of the lack of his cooperation but he still didn’t seem to obey the doctors anytime soon.

 

“Mark, please.”

 

When Mark didn’t respond, Jinyoung half smashed the spoon to the bowl in his other hand. He had tried to come as often as his packed schedule allowed him to. To run a company wasn’t an easy thing to do, and with a sick cousin—who was suppose to be the real successor—refused to be healed, it was much harder. Jinyoung is tired of helping to manage Mark’s family’s business, Mr. Tuan is getting older and Mark’s brother Joey is still too young to help. That was when he started looking for Mark.

 

“You won’t get better if you act like this,” Jinyoung sighed, his tone is getting higher. There were no words Mark had spoken to him since the day he woke up, no other emotions but hatred. Mark didn’t even look at him on the eyes.

 

Jinyoung lifted the spoon to Mark’s mouth again, not giving up on tring to feed him. If he continued being like that, Mark wouldn’t have any energy to begin walking and do other activities again. He looked pale and weak, his eyes were hollow with dark circles around them.

 

“Mark Tuan!”

 

The high tone made Mark turned his head towards Jinyoung, his face carried no emotion at all.

 

“Mark, please... Help me out a little right here, okay?” Jinyoung tried to feed him again but Mark didn’t open his mouth.

 

“Where is Jackson?” he asked without showing any emotions. Jinyoung sighed for the nth time, still didn’t understand why Mark so attached to the man named Jackson.

 

“He’s not here.”

 

Mark looked at Jinyoung’s eyes, his jaws slightly slacked.

 

“I want Jackson.”

 

“Mark please, let’s focus on your health first. Now please eat,” Jinyoung didn’t give up, although Mark’s face looked annoyed he didn’t stop. In seconds, Jinyoung noticed tears welled up in Mark’s eyes.

 

“Jackson.”

 

Mark’s voice cracked, a tear escaped his right eye.

 

“He’s not h—“

 

“I WANT JACKSON!”

 

Mark pushed Jinyoung’s hand away until the bowl smashed to the floor. Jinyoung was about to get angry but Mark’s tears stopped him.

 

“Ma—“

 

“I want Jackson, please... please I only want him, please...”

 

And that’s when Jinyoung admit he was wrong and Jackson was right. Mark was beyond attached already, and there was no way for him to pry them apart.

.

.

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“The angel...,” Mark started, he snuggled closer to the warmth on his back while playing with the veiny arms that circled around his waist, “how is he?”

 

The corner of Jackson’s lips lifted a little. He buried his nose to the back of Mark’s head, sniffing his newly washed hair. Jackson had managed to enter Mark’s room when he was fighting against the doctor and nurses who were about to replace his IV bag. He heard Mark’s crying, calling his name for the first time in awhile. Jackson ran inside, only to find him being strapped again to the bed. Jackson were angry—so angry that actually he punched one of the male nurse’s face who seemed to hurt Mark more than he should.

 

At first Mark didn’t even recognize him, but when he caressed his face and whispers sweet nothings to his right ear, Mark began to calm down. He called Jackson’s name again and again and Jackson had hugged him in the entire process of his check up.

 

“The angel is sick.” Jackson answered. He closed his eyes just to concentrate on listening to Mark’s every breath.

 

“Really?” Mark scooted further, moving his body to face Jackson, “why?”

 

“It’s painful for him to grow a new pair of wings. Now his body is in pain, but I know his wings are growing. He will get better.”

 

“Do you still abandon him?”

 

Jackson looked at Mark’s glossy eyes. It was shining, reflecting the dim light of the hospital room.

 

“No. Now I am keeping him.”

 

Mark’s eyes lit up in a faint joy, he was smiling a little. “I am so glad you do.”

 

Jackson smiled in return. “Me too.”

 

Jackson moved closer, capturing Mark’s chapped lips in a quick kiss.

 

“Please get better.” Jackson looked at Mark’s eyes which in no time welled with tears. He was so much more sensitive after a month in hospital. His voice was full of hope, like he was asking for a favor.

 

“May I?” there was hesitation, there was doubt in that question but Jackson nodded.

 

“Of course. You have to.” Jackson pulled Mark to his chest, he kissed Mark’s forehead and he knew Mark was smiling as he snuggled closer.

 

They stayed like that for God knows how long, but none of them actually fell asleep. Jackson drew circles on Mark’s back and Mark had to bite on his lower lip to stop him from purring.

 

“Mark...,” Jackson breathed out, his husky voice sent chills down Mark’s spine.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I fell in love.” Jackson said, repeating the words he had said sometimes ago.

 

Mark smiled, “With me?”

 

And Jackson only growled in response. Once, Mark had told Jackson not to fell in love because things that fell gets broken, even if it’s love. Mark was afraid to fell in love, he didn’t believe that someone could notice his broken self and fell in love with every pieces of it.

 

“Why me?” Mark nearly hold his breath, “I am a wreck, Jackson, I fucked up. Why someone like me?”

 

Jackson let out a sigh. He ran his fingers through the back of Mark’s head, finger-combing the thick and long hair.

 

“I don’t think I could fell so hard to you if you had nothing to regret. I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them. Every scars in your body is the evidence of how strong you are. You had proven how much you deserve to be loved, and I pity them who cannot see it.” Jackson’s words flew like a clear sound of water in a river; calm and soothing. Mark can live by hearing this voice forever.

 

They kept silent, Jackson was concentrating on listening to Mark’s breath and Mark was busy counting on Jackson’s heartbeat.

 

“I love you, Jackson.” Mark buried his face further, it felt hot and he knew it’s been tainted with red.

 

Jackson chuckled, “Why me?”

 

“I didn’t want to fall in love,” Mark inhaled, “but looking at you gave me chills, kissing you makes my knees go weak. You can make flowers grow and fill the space in my lungs which made it impossible for me to breath,”

 

It came out like a mumble, Mark was to shy to say it but Jackson listened anyway.

 

“...I was trying to drench the memories and the blood that once pumped through my veins with alcohol, my insides had shattered from all the whiskey bottles and every morning I awake to throw up the poison I swallowed the night before as a hopeless attempt to forget that I was attached,”

 

At that time, Mark had choked up with his tears to continue, “...but I keep hearing the sound of your voice calling out my name, as if it’s something I am not allowed to forget,”

 

“...I am attached to you, Wang Jackson. What do I do now?”

 

Jackson cupped Mark’s face, he scooted to give a few inches distance between them so he could clearly see Mark’s beautiful eyes. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears and kiss both of those heavy eyelids. The kiss was soft like feathers and by the time Jackson reached his lips, Mark smiled. He still didn’t know how one simple kiss from Jackson could blow his mind away. Was he attached to the drugs, or simply just this fucked up man in his embrace? He wasn’t sure either.

 

“I think, first you’d better be healthy,” Jackson flashed a michievous smile, “or that annoying little cousin of yours will really send me to jail.”

 

Mark laughed, it’s been awhile since the last time he saw this side of Jackson.

 

“He won’t dare to do it, or else I am gonna run away from him again,”

 

Jackson smiled, “So you will come back home?”

 

“No, I will live with you.” Mark hugged Jackson again in a quick motion, hiding his flushed face. It was the first time Jackson saw that side of Mark, and he liked it.

 

“Sounds like a great idea.” And that’s when Jackson hugged Mark close, humming random song to his ears to send him to sleep.

 

_The world is such a  cruel place, of course an angel will be hurt when he tries to fit in._

_Angels are from heaven, they are not designed to cope with pain._

_But love can give hopes, and time can heal wounds._

 

* * *

 

Every time we make the decision to love someone, we open ourself to great suffering. Because those we love the most cause us not only great joy but also great pain. If we want to avoid suffering, we will never experience the joy of loving. But love is stronger than fear, life is stronger than death, and hope is stronger than despair. We have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking.

**-Wang Jackson-**

 

Only a broken person could fix a broken person. It was the messiness and hurt in our pasts that drove us, and that same hurt connected us at a subdermal level, the kind of scars written so deeply in your cells that you can't even see them anymore, only recognize them in someone else.

And for me, I recognize them in Wang Jackson.

**-Mark Tuan-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this.  
> I hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> This story was published in AFF with defferent casts.
> 
> Find me on twitter @rundaehyun 
> 
> Thanks!


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